Hardscrabble, page 5
“Yes, ma’am.” Belle grinned.
Lizzie took her time, looking out at the prairie. It was late afternoon by then, and the sun had turned the color of the buffalo grass to a rich yellow brown. Lizzie closed her eyes and held her face to the sun, and Belle thought about that Iris and all her creams to keep her face white. Lizzie’s face was almost as tan as the grass.
“You see, Iris didn’t marry Hank after all.” Lizzie turned and winked at Belle. “She married his father.”
“His father?”
“Yes, she’d thought Hank owned the jewelry store, but it was Father Morrow who did, and I guess she was more interested in the jewelry than in Hank.”
“So he wants to marry you again?”
“It seems so. The wedding took place not long after I left Chicago. I didn’t hear about it for a long time, and by then, Hank had left Chicago, too. I didn’t know where he’d gone. Not that I cared. I wasn’t about to take up with him again. Besides, I was living in Colorado. Then out of the blue, about six months ago, he wrote me. He said throwing me over for Iris was the stupidest thing he’d ever done.” Lizzie blushed.
“And that Hank wants to marry you?” Belle had never heard anything so romantic, better than some of the magazine stories pasted on the wall in the soddy.
“It seems so.”
“Then you’re leaving Colorado?” Belle didn’t understand. Lizzie loved her homestead.
“I don’t know, Belle. Not right now, at any rate. I want to prove up my homestead first. Still, I’d like to get married and have a family, like your family. I guess I’ll have to see if he likes Colorado well enough to stay. If he doesn’t, well, who knows?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
A Homesteader Party
In August, Mrs. Spenser sent out invitations to a birthday party. She wanted everybody to come and meet her granddaughter, Hazel, who was visiting from Denver. Hazel, who was turning four, was spending a month with her.
The Spensers had come to Colorado in 1865 to start a farm, but they had become ranchers. Over the years, they had bought the land of busted-out homesteaders and now had the biggest cattle spread in Bondurant County. Lizzie told the Martins that the Spensers would slaughter a calf for the party, then barbecue it in a pit. They would serve it with potatoes and potato salad, corn and beans and baked beans, tomatoes and cucumbers and lettuce. Dessert would be cake and ice cream made with peaches shipped from over the mountains to the far west. It would be the highlight of the summer. The men would talk about crops and cattle, and the women about quilts and canning and who was getting married or having a baby. The children would play in the big grassy yard. Many hadn’t seen grass since they’d moved to Colorado. Then there would be dancing and singing.
“They have the best parties in Bondurant County,” Lizzie said, then thought a minute. “They have the only real parties, too.”
“Putting on airs with those written invitations. What’s wrong with just telling everybody to come?” Mrs. Hanson complained. She had been driving down the road in her squeaky wagon. When she saw Lizzie and Mama outside the soddy, she turned in and drove the few hundred feet to the soddy. She climbed out of the wagon, ready to gossip. “Why, how much do you think they spent on stamps? I say that’s the waste of a good dollar. Maybe more.”
“Written invitations are a courtesy. They’re good manners,” Mama replied. Mrs. Spenser had been kind to the Martins, and Mama was quick to defend her. “She is honoring us. She is a fine lady.”
“It’s show-offy, if you ask me,” Mrs. Hanson said. She didn’t seem to like what Mama had said, so she got back into her wagon. “Showing off how much money she has.”
“Is Mrs. Spenser rich?” Belle asked after Mrs. Hanson was out of hearing.
“She certainly has more money than the rest of us do,” Lizzie said. “Yes, I suppose the Spensers are rich, but nobody begrudges it. They settled this country, and they helped folks who came after them. They loaned money to some of the homesteaders when they were busted out and didn’t even charge interest. They don’t act high-and-mighty about it, either. Mr. Spenser visits around and gives advice on crops and livestock.”
In fact, Luke Spenser had stopped at the Martins’ homestead to ask how things were going and to suggest Papa rotate his crops every two or three years. And he’d asked Papa’s advice about a horse he was thinking of buying. That made Papa feel pretty good.
“The Spensers always seem to know when you need something,” Lizzie continued. “One day when I was down in the dumps and so lonely that I was ready to give up, Mrs. Spenser came to visit me and brought me Grover. He was a puppy then. She said she had a feeling I might like to have him for company. Grover was the pick of the litter. Why, he made me feel better right away. What got me was how she knew that particular day was just about the lowest of my life. I expect she went through some hard times, too.” Lizzie reached down and patted Grover’s head. “So I say, if they’re rich, hooray for them.”
The Martins talked about the upcoming party for two weeks. Mama and Carrie got out their best dresses and steamed the flounces and ribbons over the teakettle. They heated the heavy black irons on the stove and pressed everyone’s clothes. Belle had only three dresses. Still, she went back and forth, trying to choose which one was the nicest. She decided on a red-checked gingham that had belonged to Carrie and been cut down to fit her. Mama took a swath of red fabric from the trunk and made a sash for it. “You ladies will be all bugged up,” Papa said.
The day of the party, Mama and Carrie rose before dawn and bathed in the washtubs. Then they gave the younger children baths and dressed them in their good clothes. They were all nervous about the party.
Just as Belle and Carrie had finished dressing, Belle opened the trunk where she stored her treasures and took out the blue hair ribbons. She had been saving them for a special occasion. “For you,” she said, handing them to Carrie.
“They will look so pretty in your hair,” Carrie told her.
“No, they’re for you. I bought them in town.”
“For me?” Carrie took the bright ribbons and slowly ironed them between her fingers. When she looked up at Belle, her eyes glowed. “How did you know I always wanted blue hair ribbons?” There was a catch in her voice.
Belle shrugged. “I didn’t. I just thought . . .”
“You’re the best sister in the world,” Carrie told her. She went to the mirror, then slowly tied the ribbons around her braids.
As Belle was tying her sash, Frank said, “You look prissy.”
“Do not!” Belle threw a dirt clod at him.
“Do too.” Frank threw one back, and before anyone could stop them, they were in a dirt clod fight.
“I ought to leave you home as punishment,” Mama said.
“I’m sorry,” Belle said, hanging her head. “I guess I’m just excited.”
“Louisa, I think it would be rude if we didn’t all show up, since you accepted the invitation for all of us,” Papa said. “Besides, the children are likely to get dirty there anyway.”
Mama sighed. “I guess you’re right.”
Papa turned away and winked at Belle and Frank.
Carrie dusted off Belle’s dress and told her the dirt was barely visible. They all climbed into the wagon and drove to Lizzie’s soddy, because she was going to ride to the party with them. She was waiting at the road, dressed in her black skirt and shirtwaist and wearing a straw hat that was as big as a washtub. It had a white feather sticking straight up and might have been the most stylish hat Belle had ever seen. Lizzie lived in a soddy, but she knew how to get bugged up, as Papa had put it. Lizzie subscribed to Ladies’ Home Journal and gave the copies to Carrie when she was finished. Now she looked just like she’d come out of one of the magazine pages. Belle wondered if Lizzie kept up on fashions in case Hank came to visit her.
Everybody had been invited to the Spensers’ party, so there were other wagons on the road. They passed a Reo automobile that had slid into the ditch and was being pulled out by a team of horses. A man stood beside the car, looking embarrassed. Frank called out, “Get a horse!” as they passed. Everybody laughed. That was what people always yelled to a man whose motorcar had broken down.
There were other wagons and a few motorcars and trucks at the Spensers’ ranch when the Martins arrived. Papa helped Mama down from the wagon, and Carrie handed her a raisin pie they had baked that morning. Papa had said they didn’t need to bring food, that the Spensers would have enough for the whole county. Mama said she wouldn’t think of going to a party empty-handed. Other women felt the same way, as Belle saw them carrying pies and cakes and cobblers to a big table. Belle made it a point to remember Mama’s pie so that she could have a piece. That was because Mama was a good cook. It was also because Mama would feel insulted if any of her pie was left when the party was over.
Mrs. Spenser, wearing a big apron wrapped around her, came to greet them. She held the hand of a little girl and introduced her as her granddaughter.
Hazel didn’t look up when her grandmother said her name. “She’s shy,” Mrs. Spenser told them. “I wish she would play with the other children, but she clings to me.”
Mama and Papa left with Becky and baby Sage to put the pie on the table. Carrie knelt down next to Hazel. “Hazel is such a pretty name. Do you know how to spell it?”
The girl stared at Carrie’s blue hair ribbons instead of looking at her. She was still for a long time. Finally she said, “No.”
“That’s all right,” Carrie said. “Sarah doesn’t know how to spell her name, either, and I’m going to teach her this very minute.” She took Hazel’s hand, then motioned for Sarah to follow her. Gully tagged along too, although he could spell his name. Carrie sat down on a large rock and picked up a stick. She wrote “Sarah” and “Hazel” in the dirt. “That’s Sarah’s name, and that’s your name, Hazel. Can you see anything in the two names that is the same?”
After a time, Sarah pointed to the letter “A.”
“That’s right,” Carrie said.
“She has two of them. I have only one,” Hazel said. “How come?”
“Because your names are different.”
“I want to tell Grandfather,” Hazel said, and jumped up. “Come on,” she told Sarah and Gully. “You can tell him your letters, too.”
Mrs. Spenser watched the three race off. “A minute ago, she was so shy, she wouldn’t let go of me. Now she’s a completely different child. You are a wonder with children, Carrie. You will make a fine teacher.”
CHAPTER NINE
Mrs. Spenser’s Gift
School started late in the fall, because most of the homestead boys and girls had to stay home to help with the harvest. The older Martin children worked in the fields with their father to harvest their crops, although the result was poor. Papa was still learning about dryland farming.
“I thought we would do better. I haven’t gotten the hang of dryland farming yet,” Belle heard Papa tell Mama. “It means a lean year ahead of us.”
“We will manage,” Mama said. “We always have.”
Papa patted her hand. “Thanks to you.”
The five older children were enrolled in the school, which was nearly two miles away. Sometimes Papa drove them in the wagon, but most of the time they walked. The horses were needed on the farm. The long walk was hard on the two youngest children, Sarah and Gully, and often the others stopped so that they could rest.
“I don’t know what we’ll do when winter comes,” Carrie confided to Belle. “The little ones won’t be able to tramp through the snow all the way to school.”
“They’ll have to stay home,” Belle replied.
“We’ll all have to stay home. Mama’s doing so poorly that she can barely take care of Becky and the baby by herself.”
“Then Papa will just have to let us take the wagon.”
Carrie sighed. She had been working sums on a piece of wrapping paper. “He won’t. He doesn’t have time to drive us every day, and he needs the horses at home.”
“Mama will make him take us,” Belle said.
“No.” Carrie shook her head. “I’m not sure he believes that going to school is that important.”
Belle raised her head and stared at her sister. “He doesn’t?”
“It’s Mama who wants us to go to school. She says you can’t get anywhere without an education.” Carrie looked around, then whispered, “If Papa had gone to high school, he might have gotten a job back in Iowa, maybe at a bank or a farm store, and we wouldn’t have had to move here. But he didn’t have that chance, because farming is all he knows.”
Belle had never thought about that. She loved her father. Carrie did, too. He was the best man they knew—the kindest, the smartest, the hardest working, and the gentlest. Why, he never even whipped them when they were bad. “Maybe he didn’t want to go to school. Maybe he always wanted to farm. Is that why you want to go to college, so you won’t have to be a farmer’s wife?”
“Oh, Belle, I want to go because I love to learn, and if I learn, I can teach. Mama wants me to go to college, too. She wants all of us to go. She expects me to graduate, then help you, and then we’ll both help Frank.”
Belle nodded. Except for reading and writing stories, she didn’t like school much, but she liked learning things, too. Even when she’d thought about Carrie teaching them at home, Belle had assumed that would be temporary. She couldn’t imagine that they wouldn’t be able to go to school at all.
Belle remembered that conversation during snowy days. At first, it was fun walking to school, bundled up against the cold, stopping to throw snowballs at Frank or making snow angels. But after a time, they all grew to dislike the long walk down the icy dirt road. The snow swirled around them and sent pinpricks of ice against their skin. Sometimes when the snowfall was heavy, they stayed home. Papa said it was too dangerous for them to walk to school, that they could be caught in a ground blizzard and wander off the road and get lost. Belle knew that meant they could freeze to death, and the thought frightened her.
“Will we have to stay home all winter?” she asked Carrie.
“I don’t know.”
The children had already missed several days due to the weather. On a day in mid-December when the snow was too thick for them to leave the soddy again, Carrie put her head in her hands. She had been sitting at the table, helping Belle with her sums. She didn’t often get discouraged, so Belle knew something was wrong. “What is it?” she whispered.
“I’m just tired.”
“No, what is it?”
Carrie looked around the room to make sure Mama wasn’t listening. “If I can’t go to school, I won’t graduate, and then how can I go to college? Oh, Belle, it’s so disappointing.”
Belle tried to think of something to say but couldn’t. She took her sister’s hand to show she cared. They sat there for a long time.
Then they heard an automobile outside. Belle drew aside the curtain over the window and peered out. They hadn’t known that the snow had stopped and the sun was shining. The window was small, and it was dark in the soddy.
Mama heard the car, too, and went to the door and opened it. “Why, it’s the Spensers. Quick, Carrie, get out the bread and butter for our guests. And make coffee, too.” Mama stepped outside and called, “You’ve brightened our day as much as the sun.” Then she turned to Frank. “Go get your father from the barn.”
“No, I’ll go there,” Mr. Spenser said. “I need to ask his advice. I’ve got a mule that’s ailing, and the animal doctor’s gone to Denver. Maybe your husband will know what to do about it. You go inside and get warm, Mattie,” he told his wife, squeezing her arm with affection.
“I will go inside. My hands are frozen to my gloves,” Mrs. Spenser said. She went into the soddy and took off her coat. “I should have made Luke drive the buggy and let me take the car.”
“You brought both your buggy and your motorcar?” Belle asked. She exchanged a look with Carrie. Why would they do such a thing?
“Yes, and now I know why we bought an automobile. I’m too old to go off in this cold with a buggy. Come and sit in my lap, Sarah, and tell me how to spell your name. Maybe one day, you and Hazel will write letters to each other.”
Sarah climbed into Mrs. Spenser’s lap and slowly said, “S-A-R-A-H.”
“She’s quite the scholar,” Mrs. Spenser said when Carrie handed her a tin cup of coffee.
Belle couldn’t stand it any longer. “Why did you come here in both an automobile and a buggy?” she asked.
Mrs. Spenser looked up from Sarah. “Oh, I guess I didn’t tell you. That old buggy has been sitting in our barn so long, it’s wearing out from lack of use. I thought you could drive it back and forth to school. It would be a kindness if you’d take it off my hands. One more thing I wouldn’t have to worry about.”
“You’re giving us the buggy?” Belle asked.
“If you’ll take it.”
“It’s much too valuable. We can’t accept,” Mama said.
“Why, of course you can. The buggy’s no use to me sitting in the barn. And your children need a way to get to school. You and I both know how important an education is. Even in this day and age when women in Colorado have the vote, they still don’t have many options for employment. With a college education, Carrie could do all kinds of things. You wouldn’t deprive her of that, would you?”
Before Mama could reply, Carrie put her hands to her mouth. “That’s wonderful, Mrs. Spenser! How can we thank you?”
“By going to school.”
“But how can we do that? We can’t pull the buggy ourselves,” Belle put in. “Papa won’t let us have one of his horses. He needs them on the farm.”
“Of course he does. Besides, a big old farm horse is too plodding to pull a buggy. That’s why I brought the pony.” She turned to Frank. “He’ll have to be your responsibility, young man. You’ll take care of him, won’t you? Rub him down every night and put a blanket over him when he stands in the cold in the school yard. I believe he needs a boy to ride him sometimes, too.” She looked at Belle. “And maybe a girl, too. His name is Catsup, because he’s red.”
